


Consuming

by yugung



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, hunts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9608885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yugung/pseuds/yugung
Summary: Dean tries to drown his sorrows after Sam leaves on a solo hunt.





	

It had started late, considering they were holed up together in some motel most of the time. Dean had noticed his brother's eyes lingering where they clearly didn't belong and a first he'd chalked it up to puberty, hell, everybody's got to go through that at some point. Switching schools as often as they did, there really wasn't a chance for either of them to develop an actual crush on someone, let alone a relationship.  
Then he'd had to readjust his eyes a little too often too. But he always figured it would all be fine, that it was only a natural thing. Guys being cooped, not having enough outlet and all that. His brother grew up, filling out all those lanky limbs he's been slinging around awkwardly. He was proud of the man Sam had become and tried to suppress anything else.  
The tried and tested Winchester method of avoidance only lasted so long though.  
They'd split up for two hunts, neither could wait and both were pretty grueling even by their standards. Sam was after something that looked like a whole fucking bunch of, well, things. Whatever they were, they went for the brain and mauled the rest of the body seemingly just for enjoyment. Dean for his part went to get a shifter, or as it turned out, two. He tried not to think too hard about it, but surviving that stint had involved too much luck for one guy alone.  
They would meet up again at another A-motel, just as planned.  
Dean had crashed there first and Sam had arrived a night later. He'd been angry at Sam for not calling, not even one single 'I'm alright over here' and frankly, he'd been worried sick. First thing he'd done after ending those damn shifters was to call Sammy, multiple times, he had not picked up the phone. So the second best thing Dean could think of was to have a drink or two and pick up a nice chick.  
He'd got the first part of his plan done quite efficiently, the second part, not so much. Bars tend to mess with anyone's head and when Dean had his last double he'd lost all interest in a quick get-together. He'd returned to the motel and passed out easily enough.  
The next morning he still hadn't gotten message from Sam and his head would not stop spinning until late afternoon. When the world finally seemed to hold still again, he'd already made up his mind to give Sam a good talking-to. But then Sam had finally turned up and Dean didn't say a thing, couldn't say it. Instead he felt the searing need to punch his brother, with a desperate rage that threatened to boil over he had Sam cornered against the brown-red wallpaper of the motel, but his brother hadn't looked scared or angry. Not at all.  
No, he could still feel it. Sam's eyes searching his face for absolution and as he later realized, reciprocation. They never properly discussed afterwards what happened on their respective hunts, but Dean guessed it must've been an equally close call for the both of them.  
In his memory there'd been a moist breath at his hairline and then his own breathing had turned funny. He'd stared at Sam's collarbone and realized that he could feel his brother's warmth, his very life and presence. The relief had been bone deep. From then on it was more of a blur to him, this first encounter. He couldn't even really recall how Sam's lips had tasted then, or how the unbrotherly touches had rendered him blind with pleasure. These memories had come later, when they came together a second time and a third. When Dean had fully understood what his brother meant to him.  
From the very first time he only remembered on thing clear as the day, Sammy's hands coming to rest on his chest and the nape of his neck as his brother dozed off. They'd felt rough and calloused, worn from too many guns and too much life.  
He shook his head forcefully, he would not turn into a sap. 

The liquid streamed down his throat, slightly burning and rough. Just how he liked it. There, that thought sounded better. Less pathetic. He sat the glass down, back on the wooden table, lightly and without a sound. He watched the drops run down the sides of the glass down into that precious amber lake. His eyelids began sliding down slowly, sleep calling almost gently for his compliance and the physical sensations began to fade.  
But he couldn't. As soon as he closed his eyes there were flashes of hellfire, not the literal ones, but the ones he thought he'd seen when his brother died. Sam has long been back from the dead, from the cage, even his soul predicament has been settled. Only since then, Sam seemed more aloof, like he didn't want Dean as anymore as a brother. He tried to be alright with that, he really tried and most of the time he succeeded. Sometimes though, he couldn't help but wake up to the memory of a dream and Sam's lips, hard and almost chafed.

One more. It always looked so appealing, so pretty and clear despite its opaqueness. It came close to water these days, so essential for survival. The next morning always held a soft and fuzzy feeling, oddly tasting mouth in its wake. But that was fine. It was all good as long as it helped quelling the sheer fear of being alone again. Because it would happen eventually. One of them would die. Again. Propping his elbows on the table he cradled his face in his hands. Dean almost gave in, he cried, but only almost. The headlights of a car driving past the motel shook him up and out of his rut.  
He violently grabbed the glass and poured the remaining fluid into his body. Not silent at all he stood up fast, the chair nearly falling down. He could not be weak, could not disappoint Sammy. He quickly gained back control over his swaying form and let the glass clatter into the sink. He swiftly cleaned it, put it back where it belonged, opened up the window a little and hid the bottle in his duffle.  
Dean did not need Sam to be uselessly worried about his nonsensical brother who was obviously being ridiculous. They had other problems. Sam was alive and well. No reason to be dramatic.  
A quick mouth wash rinse and he slumped down on his bed. There was no way to be sure when Sam would come back from his stupid solo hunt. Could be next day or in a week. Or never.  
And if Dean took one last swig before going to bed, it was only because it helped him sleep a little better.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of some sort, I edited it rather heavily though. I hope someone enjoys it.


End file.
